Lost Bird
by dollopheaddemigodonanadventure
Summary: It's hard to feel anything when you've shut yourself down emotionally. Desperate, Reyna seeks escape and finds it in an unlikely place. The fight club makes her forget, makes her feel again, and for a while, the euphoria is enough to push the numbness away. But what happens when it's no longer enough? And will she ever be able to feel anything again? Mostly Reyna fic - some Jeyna


She wrenched the taps open and the water sputtered out. Rusty and reeking of the metal. One hand pinched her nose, trying to stem the blood streaming down her lips. Overhead, one fluorescent bulb blinked weakly, its sister having already given up on life, halving the water closet into light and shadow. Her left side illuminated, her right shadowed – nothing more than a wounded creature. Around her, the haphazard zinc walls rattled with the wind whistling through the cracks of the walls. The place was rank with a nauseous mixture of sweat, piss, blood, vomit, and cigarette smoke.

Still, she was alone – momentarily – and that was worth enduring the pain and stink. She bent over the sink, cupped water in her hands, and pressed it to her face. Pain spiked across her face, sharp as a knife, straight into the back of her head. She pressed her teeth against the groan trying to escape, and squeezed her nose, pushing her body to work through the pain. _Breathe and bear it, Reyna_ , she thought, taking a savage pleasure in the pain. She straightened and inspected herself in the cracked, rusty mirror above the sink.

Her nose was swollen and red, an oozing cut sliced across the bridge. The skin around the left side of her mouth was an angry red and her lips too were swollen. Three punctures dotted the hollow of her left cheekbone, where the fighting rings had embedded themselves. Blood was dripping from them and Reyna hurriedly wiped it away. They would leave marks and that was a problem. Marks meant raised eyebrows and questions, which meant scrutiny, which meant people watching her, which meant it would be harder to escape. She sighed and ran her fingers under the tap, watching the water turn pink with her blood. She bent down to her gym bag lying on the grimy tiles by the sink and heaved it onto its chipped ceramic edge. She fumbled inside and brought out a box of bandages. She took one out, ripped it open with her teeth, and pulled the bandage out. The wound leaked down her cheek and she wiped it clean again before pressing the gauze square to her cheek. Red spots appeared on the material but she ignored it, fished out the medical tape and secured it against her cheek.

The wounds didn't bother her – her body would heal. In fact, there was a certain kind of pride in knowing the kind of beating she'd taken for these wounds and yet having survived. She was strong, she was here, and she'd won – yet, again. She undid her braid, wet her hands, and smoothed her hair back, running her fingers through to detangle it. Her fingers deftly re-braided it, letting it fall over her left shoulder.

Something vibrated in the bag, sending it dancing along the rim of the sink. Reyna dug inside again and pulled out the old, beat-up cell phone. The alarm demanded action – snooze or dismiss. Shit, she was late. Percy had told her they'd be arriving this afternoon and she had a long way to go. She silenced the alarm and dropped the cell phone back into the bag. Cell-phones were homing beacons. Oh well, let them come, she thought. Still, she lingered, her hands clenched around the rim of the sink, her eyes closed, hateful of the idea of returning.

She felt the seconds tick by, each one closing in around her, like some behemoth inching closer. Dread pulled at her stomach and anxiety crawled along the back of her neck. She sighed and pulled out the hoodie from her bag. It didn't matter if she didn't want to – there was work to be done and Reyna couldn't just stand here and wish her problems away.

When she stepped out of the shack, the wind blew sand into her face, like an enthusiastic birthday party guest throwing confetti at the birthday girl. She blinked, coughing, and pulled the hood tighter around her face, trying to shield her skin from it. She took a few steps, her lips already forming the whistle, when the man melted out of the sand.

"There she is, my prized fighter." He was an aging man, 120 pounds going on 300. His round stomach, heralded his arrival, his bald head shone, and there was always sweat like a moustache above his lips. Though, she had to admire his taste in shoes. The man always wore impeccably shined, leather shoes that complimented every singe outfit he wore. He threw a rolled-up wad of bills to her. She caught in and stuffed it into the pocket of her hoodie. "You keep fightin' like that, we're gonna make some serious cash, you and me."

"Whatever you say, boss." She pushed past him, watching his silhouette fade into the blowing sand. The wind whistled around her, isolating her from everything and everyone around her, and she felt relieved. It was freeing here, when the elements demanded so much of her attention that she had no space in her brain for anything else.

Someone jostled into her from behind. She spun around to find the leering face of the girl who'd given her the souvenirs on her face.

"Not so pretty now, are you?" she said, cracking her knuckles, the blood-splattered ring still casing her fingers.

Reyna smirked. "Pretty or not, your ass's still the one that's beat."

She growled and lunged towards Reyna. But the praetor stepped back out of her way, letting the sand separate them. She didn't have time for this fight. She whistled and a moment letter, she could hear the beat of wings. It buffeted sand away from her and then Scipio landed in front her, his tawny coat blending in with the world around her. He turned his great big head to her and nickered, nuzzling her.

"I know, I know. But it's not as bad as it looks," she said. She stroked his flank and climbed onto his back. "Come on, we should've been back ages ago." Skippy took one step, two, cantered into a gallop, and with three powerful flaps of his wings he rose into the air. He circled higher and higher until he broke through the cloud of sand into a clear, piercing blue sky, the sun white above them. Reyna took a deep breath, pulling the freshness of the air into her, letting it soothe the turmoil boiling inside her.

She'd found the fight club exactly seven months ago. It had been another dead-end day that had yielded no answers. One month – that was how long they'd been looking for her co-praetor and they'd had nothing to show for it. She'd gone back to her villa, having worked her brain to the grind, only to be haunted by _his_ villa standing like a mausoleum next door. She'd been exhausted, she remembered that clearly. Remembered the way the exhaustion weighed her limbs down and made every move feel like it was costing her ten times the energy to do it. And still she couldn't sleep. Her brain would not shut off, going round and round with the same thoughts Reyna felt herself shying away from in the day time.

Frustrated and at the end of her rope she'd shed the armour and pulled on a black hoodie and black camo pants, whistled for Scipio and took off into the night. At the very least, maybe escaping would do her some good. They'd flown – only the gods knew how long – and the landscape changed below them, though she'd hardly noticed. Suddenly, they were flying over an endless desert, interrupted only by shrubbery sticking up like the desert was saying 'fuck you' to the heavens. It would have been a sea of darkness save that the moon and stars shone their silvery light down upon it. And then there was bright, white light – a pool of it, no more than the size of a backyard blow-up pool from her height. But the music so loud that she felt the beats thrum through her.

Intrigued by this sudden appearance of life in the middle of nothing, she'd directed Scipio into a dive. The smell of booze hit her first but it was the pungent odour of marijuana that made her nostrils flare. Sweat and the metallic tang of blood mixed in with the heady scents and Reyna knew that in the days to come her memory of this place would forever be marked by these scents. As she flew lower, the vague shapes fashioned themselves into more tangible things – there was a great stage in the middle of the crowd, a chain-link fence surrounding it and a mesh canopy above it. Inside, two men faced off against each other, blood and spit dripping down their faces. People, raving like lunatics, shook fists, beer bottles and joints in the air, screaming for blood. Here and there, flood lights blazed, hardening the planes of people's faces where the light didn't hit. The ring itself was brightly lit – the contestants on clear display in this savage pageantry. The deep bass of hip-hop music rolled over her, her eardrum vibrating with the beat.

And yet, she felt inexplicably drawn to the place. She landed behind the zinc shed, reeking as it always did, and Scipio whinnied. She shushed him distractedly and stepped out from behind the makeshift bathroom. Scipio whinnied again and took off into the night. She looked up, her stomach sinking. But a restless, nervous energy coursed through her, making her heart beat faster. When she pushed her way through the throng of people, she didn't do so entirely consciously. She stepped up to the stage, in time to see a hulk of a man shake his fists in the air. His opponent lay groaning on the floor, his knuckles cracked and bloody, his face barely discernible under the blood.

A man stepped into the ring, with the ease of a man who knows he's in control. He was tall and thin and carried his head high as he walked. A cigar dangled from his lips, raised in a smirk around it. His dark hair was gelled back, accentuating the chiseled cheekbones of his face. His ivory suit was spotless and seemed to glow in the lights and his shoes were a gleaming, dark brown leather. The eyes of the crowd followed him as he sashayed across the stage. Behind him, two grubby attendants rushed towards the fallen fighter and carried him out. But the man ignored them and stepped closer to the victor. He took the victor's left wrist and raised his arm. The crowd roared their approval and the man bellowed, "Your champion. Undefeated." He released the man and handed him a wad of cash.

"Is our champion unbeatable?" The man's voice was quiet but it washed through the crowd, hypnotic. They hung on to his words – it was in the way they pressed forward, in the way their mouths hung open, and their eyes widened hungrily. "Is there no one who can beat him? No one who dares challenge him? Is there no one man enough to prove themselves the better fighter?"

"No man. But perhaps a woman." The words were out of her mouth before she'd even realized she'd thought them. The man's eyes found hers – a light brown shining like whiskey in the light. He smiled, pulling the cigar from his mouth.

"Ah, a challenger. He stepped closer to her, peering down at her through the chain. "And who would you be little lady?"

She thought for a moment. "You can call me the Lost Bird."

He chuckled. "Well Lost Bird, do you think you will be the one to defeat our champion?"

She shrugged and tugged the black hoodie off. He shook the chain fence and the crowd echoed with cat calls and jeers. But she stared back up at him defiantly, daring him to stop her. His smile widened into a grin and he pointed to the entrance. She made her way onto the stage, the crowd clearing a path for her like she was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

When she stepped into the ring, something strange happened. Suddenly, everything stilled within her. Her thoughts silenced, her energy calmed, and everything came into clearer focus as though she'd been seeing the world through a foggy lens before. The man in the suit stepped up to her. Behind him, her opponent scowled down at them, cracking his knuckles. His shoulders were twice the width of her and he bore down upon her like an obelisk. His oily hair clung to his cheeks and neck, his abs gleamed in the light, his biceps the size of her Pegasus. Still, she felt blissfully calm – calmer than she'd felt in gods knew how long.

"A'right, no funny business," the man said to her, his back to the crowd. His cologne enveloped her – something expensive and out of place at a place like this. "If you win, we'll work something out kid. If you die, the carrions will find you before anyone else does."

She nodded, her focus already lasered onto her enemy. Perhaps he'd noticed, because he said, "Don't do anything stupid kid. If you're down, stay down and we'll get you out of there."

She turned to him then, finally giving him her attention. "Oh ye, of little faith." She reached up and straightened the lapels of his blazer. "You best get out of here. Don't want to get blood on that pretty suit of yours."

She'd surprised him – it was in the 'O' of his mouth. But then his lips straightened and he stepped back. He turned to the crowd, his arms spread. "Ladies and gentlemen. I give you the Lost Bird and The Bruiser."

 _The Bruiser_. How original, she'd thought, rolling her eyes. The man in the suit stepped through the entrance and the chain gate clanged shut behind him. A gun shot sounded somewhere behind her, the crowd exploded into vicious approval and the fight began. They circled each other, Reyna watching him like a panther before it pounced. The shouts and music faded away until the borders of the world were the chain fences and it was peopled by only her and him.

"Poor little Lost Bird," the man growled. "Thinks she'll find her way in the cage."

"Poor little Bruiser. He's about to have to change it to the Bruised," she retorted.

The man bellowed and charged her. She danced away and he ran, head first, into the chains. The crowd booed and the man turned back to her, snarling. He rushed her, hands outstretched and she ducked under his arms, landing two quick, hard punches to his gut. She swung behind him and kicked him, sending him toppling to the ground. The crowd fell silent, stunned. He pushed himself to his feet and faced her, an angry gleam in his eyes. They circled each other again. He was smarter than he looked for he didn't rush her again. Fine, it was her turn to make a move. She ran to him, pulling her right arm back. He, instinctively, raised an arm to block her. But, at the last minute, she crouched and launched herself into the air. She somersaulted over him and brought her fists down on his neck. He gagged but turned with unexpected speed, catching her leg. He slammed her onto the ground and Reyna felt the air rush out of her. Pain exploded at the back of her head and she blinked black spots out of her vision. He planted a knee on either side of her and leaned over her, swaying slightly. He raised his fists and brought them down on her face. Her nose cracked, and pain lanced across her jaw.

For the first time in months, Reyna felt. Just felt. Pain, beautiful, magical pain that made her blood sing and her body ache. It was a relief after the numbness that had gripped her restless mind. After the constant exhaustion. This pain made her feel alive. It was a heady, addictive thing and she wanted more. So she lay there and let him hit her, every punch rattling through her bones, every muscle tensed for reaction. Something loosened inside her and all the restless energy she'd had for the past month, all the unanswered questions, all the failed reports assembled themselves into a bomb waiting to be exploded.

"Yield, girl," she heard the man in the suit rasp from somewhere to her left.

But, inexplicably, the Lost Bird laughed. It was a mad sound, full of manic release, and the giant straddling her hesitated. It was all she needed. She locked her knees around his neck and flipped him onto his back. It was her turn to straddle him. She howled, a wild, feral call, and smashed her knuckles into his face. Once, twice, thrice. The skin around her knuckles broke and blood sloshed down her hands. His nose and jaw crunched under her hands and still she kept punching, her teeth locked in a soundless growl. Everything came pouring out – the ache in her stomach when she looked at _his_ villa, the dislocated feeling of having lost something when she walked into the office and _he_ wasn't there, the boiling resentment that Venus's prophecy had stirred in her. They crackled like fireworks as her fists connected. She yowled, vicious and pleasurable, and Reyna felt the peace of battle fire her blood.

She didn't know how long she hit him, but she was still hitting him long after he stopped moving. They'd had to pull her off him and she'd laid there, breathing heavily, a barbaric grimace locked on her face. She was vaguely aware of the man in the suit standing over her, his arms crossed. He floated in and out of her vision – a dark angel silhouetted in golden light. His attendants, like wraiths, clustered around the man. "He's still alive," she heard one of them shout.

The man in the suit shook his head. He threw something down at her. "Get yourself cleaned up kid. Same place, same time tomorrow. Let's see if you can keep the title, little champion." He faded out of view.

She hadn't been sure how long she'd lain there. But she'd been caught up in the ecstasy of victory, of feeling, of being alive, and she had wanted to relish it for as long as possible. There was nothing to go back to anyway. She'd lain there until the night closed around her and she faded from the light.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated. I will try to be more responsible about posting new chapters.

Much love.


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